


Dance To Remember

by carolroi (CarolROI)



Series: Hotel California [2]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: BDSM, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 11:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2228124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarolROI/pseuds/carolroi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A victim.  A crime.  A suspect under arrest.  It's exactly what it seems--or is it?  Long before Blair Sandburg met Jim Ellison the Sentinel, he met Detective Ellison the cop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance To Remember

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to Hotel California. It was previously posted as a gen story under the title "Games". It's been expanded and deserves its Adult rating now. Beware, kink ahead!

June 1994

The pounding techno beat was a pulse against his skin, permeating his pores, filling his senses from the inside out. Eyes closed, head thrown back, his body shimmied to the sensual rhythm. Hands stroked across the taut fabric of his black tee shirt, tracing a path down his chest and around his waist. Dark blue eyes flew open as his dancing partner pulled him to her, rocking their hips together. 

A grin split his face and he laughed, resting his hand on her shoulder as he followed her movements. She gazed up at him, her eyes half-lidded in pleasure, slowly running her tongue over her full, red lips. She wanted him, he was sure of it. 

Soft, white skin peeked between the slits and chains and buckles of the incredibly short leather dress she wore, tempting him, enticing him. As the music segued into another song, he disentangled himself, leaving the dance floor and the promise of a night of sexual bliss behind.

Fingers grabbed his hand before he'd gone more than a few steps, dragging him into a pocket of shadow, away from the strobing lights and prying eyes. Whirling around, he found the brunette he'd been dancing with. 

"Come on, baby," she said, her voice holding a hint of the forbidden. "Where are you going? I have plans for you--"

Yanking his arm away, he shook his head. "I've got to go home."

Instead of the pout he expected, hazel eyes flashed dangerously in the dim light. Before he knew what was happening, his back was pressed against a pillar, her fingernails digging into his biceps. "You're making a mistake," she murmured softly, her tone the exact opposite of her hostile body language. Leaning in close, she nipped at his earlobe. 

The rush of adrenaline and pure testosterone at the sharp, short pain made him gasp. All his nerve endings suddenly switched on high, his body instinctively knowing what a night with this woman could be. The sensation made him weak in the knees. 

He shook his head to clear it. She was fire, and he would definitely get burned. "Sorry, not tonight," he rasped, his voice rough with self-denial. 

She stepped away, releasing him. He headed for the exit, not daring to look back for fear he'd find her on his heels and this time not have the strength to resist her.

Exiting by the alley door, he left the noise and stink of the crowded club behind. Almost immediately he felt the tension from his confrontation with the woman abate. Breathing deeply of the slightly muggy night air, he paused between the buildings and gazed up at the sky. Stars glistened like dewdrops on a canvas of deep purple. The streetlights mirrored the heavens, brilliant points of light against a velvet cityscape.

He could hear snatches of music and chatter from inside the club every time the door opened and shut, but he really didn't pay much attention to it as he walked toward the street, caught up in the simple beauty of a summer evening. 

Without warning, he was grabbed from behind and shoved against the building, his left arm twisted painfully behind his back. "What the--" he started to protest, but fingers tangled in his hair, pressing his face so tightly to the wall he could feel each individual bump and groove of the brick cutting into his cheek. 

"I don't recall giving you permission to speak," a voice hissed in his ear. "Behave, or I'll have to hurt you." Swallowing hard, he nodded, wincing as his skin scraped across the rough wall. The grip on his head was released.

Something was looped around his wrist and drawn tight. Adrenaline flooded his body, making it hard to breathe, making him struggle. Again a fist tightened in his hair, the pain bringing involuntary tears to his eyes. "Stop it!" the voice growled. "I don't want to hurt you - yet - but I will if I have to." 

The edge of steel in the words sent a shiver down his spine, and he stood still, allowing his hands to be bound behind his back. "Please…" he pleaded. "Please don't do this…."

"Someone has a very short memory." A cloth gag was forced into his mouth and tied tightly. "There, that's much better." 

A hand on his shoulder spun him around and he finally got a look at his captor. It was the leather-garbed woman from inside the club. She smiled at the recognition in his eyes. "I told you I had plans." Leaning up against him, she pressed her lips to the side of his neck, her hand stroking his thigh. 

He shuddered, trying to cope with the conflicting emotions racing through him. He knew he should be afraid, but fear warred with an adrenaline-fueled lust. Her hand moved higher, touching, stroking, rubbing, and his traitorous body responded, his hips thrusting into her palm. He moaned deep in his throat, and she seemed amused by that, laughing and nipping at his Adam's apple with her teeth. "Such a beautiful boy, so responsive. We're going to have so much fun together, precious," she whispered.

A car's headlights illuminated the dark alley, and for a moment, he thought he might be rescued. The vehicle rolled to a stop a few feet away from them, but the tall, muscular, blond man who got out walked around to the rear of the sedan and opened the trunk, giving the couple only a brief glance. 

Her grip tightened on his upper arm, and she tugged him in the direction of the car. The trunk--oh God, they were going to put him in the trunk! 

He wriggled and twisted and kicked and yelled behind his gag. But help didn't come and his two kidnappers dealt with his tantrum by simply picking him up and depositing him inside the car. His ankles were tied together, and he was positioned on his side atop a blanket that covered the bottom of the trunk. 

She leaned over him, stroking his hair tenderly. "Just a short ride, pet, and then the real fun begins." Her fingertips gave his left nipple a quick pinch through his shirt, then the lid closed, and he was alone in the darkness.

Breathe, he told himself, just keep breathing, and you'll be fine. His body didn't seem to be listening, though. His blood pounded in his ears. The noise of the car engine and the swish of the tires on pavement sounded distantly in the background, distorted, as if he were underwater. 

It was hot in the trunk, and he quickly began to perspire. Sweat trickled down between his shoulder blades and beaded on his forehead. He blinked rapidly as perspiration ran into his eyes, stinging. Ducking his head, he rubbed his face against the blanket underneath him, wiping away the moisture. When he raised his head again, his eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness. Surprisingly, it wasn't as black as he expected. Light leaked around the taillights, giving the compartment a reddish glow. 

Wiggling around a bit, he finally settled on a position that was minimally uncomfortable, though he hoped she'd been telling the truth when she'd told him it would be a "short ride." Where were they going? She'd made it pretty clear what she wanted with him, but he could imagine a hundred different ways the night could play out.

She'd been dressed in some kind of quasi-dominatrix garb. Was his final destination some secret dungeon where she'd make him her slave? A mental picture of himself wearing nothing but a collar and a leash came to mind and he shivered. 

But she'd called him "beautiful" and "precious", and those words didn't fit with the dungeon image in his head. Maybe she was taking him to one of those theme hotels, where every room was a different fantasy, and people checked in under phony names and paid by the hour. A nice soft bed, satin sheets, candlelight…and him--tied to the bed with silk scarves. An involuntary noise escaped his throat; it sounded suspiciously like a whimper to his ears. 

A siren whooped shrilly and he jerked in surprise and pain, wishing his hands were free so he could cover his ears. The car began to slow, then came to a stop. He could hear voices, but the trunk muffled the individual words. The whole vehicle vibrated as doors were opened and shut. More voices, then silence. Just when he was about to die of curiosity, there was a 'click', and the lid of his prison was opened. He was about to be freed.

 

* * *

"Well, that was a waste of a perfectly good Friday night," the detective commented as he left the raucous nightclub with his partner. 

The older man shrugged. "Any stakeout where nothing dangerous happens is a good stakeout, especially in a room full of people. We'll catch him, Slick, you just have to have patience." They reached his vintage sports car, and he unlocked the door. "You still helping me move tomorrow?" 

He nodded. "Yeah, I'll be there. Night." He watched his partner drive off, then started toward his pickup truck, parked on the street next to the club. A scuffling noise from the alley behind him reached his ears, and he paused, straining to listen. But there was nothing else, and with a shrug, he climbed into his truck and started the engine. 

Just as he was about to drive off, a black Mercedes sedan pulled out of the alley and turned east in front of him. Something about the car didn't feel right to him, though he couldn't explain why. Without a conscious effort on his part, he found himself dropping in behind it, staying half a block back. 

The driver of the Mercedes acted like he knew he had a cop following him, keeping just under the speed limit and coming to a complete stop well behind the line at every red light. Still, the nagging tension in the detective's gut kept him on their tail, searching for an excuse to pull them over. 

Finally, he got one. The Mercedes changed lanes without signaling. A grim smile twisting his lips, the detective closed on the car and flipped on his lights and siren. The driver of the sedan checked his rearview mirror with a start then he slowed down and parked at the curb.

Picking up the radio microphone, the detective called in the stop, knowing dispatch would automatically roll a squad car to his location as he was driving an unmarked vehicle. Within a few minutes, he had the name of the car's owner from the license plate number. The Mercedes was registered to Julia Henson of Seattle, no prior arrests or traffic violations. 

Grabbing his flashlight, he climbed out of his truck and approached the driver's side of the vehicle. The blond man behind the wheel rolled down the window. "What seems to be the problem, officer?" he asked. "I know I wasn't speeding."

"License and registration, please," he answered, ignoring the man's question. The license read Patrick Malloy, and the registration was in the Henson woman's name. As he was examining them, the patrol unit arrived. "I'll be right back," he told Malloy.

Walking over to the police car, he quickly explained the situation. "Hey, Hutchens, just follow my lead on this, okay? Something's going on with this guy, but I don't know what yet."

Getting out of his car and leaning against the hood, the patrol officer nodded. "Sure thing, Detective. I've got your back." 

Returning to the suspect's car, he handed the license and registration back. "Does Ms. Henson know you're driving her car this evening?"

There was movement in the back seat, and the tinted rear window descended with a whir. The passenger spoke up for the first time. "I'm Julia Henson. Patrick is my driver. What's the problem?"

She seemed familiar to him, but he couldn't get a good look at her inside the car. "Could you both step out of the car, please?"

Malloy started to complain. "Look, I haven't done anything wrong--"

She cut him off with a quiet "Patrick," the single word laced with the unmistakable note of command. 

"Sorry, Mistress," he murmured, getting out of the car and immediately turning to open the door for her. 

Taking the hand Malloy extended to her, she exited gracefully, giving the detective a good look at her legs, their length and shape accentuated by the five-inch stiletto-heeled pumps she wore. His gaze traveled up, taking in her skimpy clubbing outfit which appeared to be no more than some scraps of leather held together with chains. Her dark brown hair just brushed her bare shoulders, and her makeup gave her a subtly exotic look. Closing the car door, she leaned against it, her gold-flecked hazel eyes meeting his calmly, as she said, "How can we help you?"

He recognized her now, from the club. She had been the center of attention on the dance floor, dancing with a young man in a tee shirt and tight, strategically ripped jeans. The way they had been hanging all over each other, it surprised him to find her in the company of the older, and much more subdued, Patrick. He gave the driver a closer look. In contrast to Henson's calm aura of authority, Malloy seemed visibly nervous, his gaze flicking from the detective to the squad car, to the rear of the Mercedes. 

"I noticed you didn't signal back there when you changed lanes," he said, directing his comment at the driver.

Malloy looked to his employer before he answered. At her small nod, he responded, "I'm sorry, officer. I thought I signaled." 

The detective smiled jovially. "Well, perhaps you did. Maybe your turn signal isn't working." Again, Malloy's gaze drifted to the trunk of the car. 

"Thank you so much for that information, officer," Henson said. "I'll have Patrick take the car to the garage in the morning." 

"Oh, no need for that. It's probably just a loose wire. I can fix it for you in a jiffy, if you'd be so kind as to open the trunk," he pressed. 

"That's quite all right," she replied, her voice calm and unwaveringly sincere. "My mechanic can take care of it. In fact, I know he would insist upon it. He hates for anyone but him to touch my car." She laughed lightly.

The detective laughed with her. "I understand, Ms. Henson, but a non-working turn signal can cause an accident. I'm sure you wouldn't want anyone to get hurt because of something as simple as a loose wire." When she showed no sign of giving in, he continued, "Unless there's some reason you don't want me to look in the trunk." 

"I'd hate to have you go to all that trouble, officer, when I pay a mechanic to take care of these kinds of things for me. I promise you I'll have it taken care of in the morning."

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I can't let you drive the car until the turn signal is fixed. I'll call a tow truck and have it taken to the police lot. You can have your mechanic come get it in the morning." 

Malloy looked rattled at his words, but Henson simply sighed, then reached through the open driver's window and popped the trunk latch. 

"Thank you, ma'am," the detective said, walking around to the rear of the Mercedes and lifting the trunk lid. Nothing he'd imagined prepared him for the sight that met his eyes. 

Lying in the back of the car, bound and gagged, his eyes wide with fear, was the man he'd seen dancing with Henson at the club. "What the fuck!" he swore, then he was drawing his weapon and aiming it at the woman as Hutchens slammed Malloy against the hood of the car and cuffed him in response to the other man's outburst. 

"Turn around slowly," the detective snapped. "Put your hands on top of the car where I can see 'em." 

The woman raised one perfectly arched eyebrow, but complied. Moving in close, he holstered his weapon and got out his handcuffs. Bringing first one hand then the other behind her back, he cuffed her wrists together, then turned her around and pushed her against the side of the car. Only then did he shift his attention to Hutchens and his prisoner. "Call for more backup--and an ambulance."

"Already on its way," the patrol officer replied. "An ambulance?"

"Yeah, there's a guy tied up in the trunk. I don't know how bad of a shape he's in."

Hutchens's eyes went wide then he reached for the mike switch at his shoulder and spoke with dispatch. 

When he was finished, the detective asked, "You got these two?" At Hutchens's nod, he walked back around the Mercedes, turning on his flashlight. 

The man in the trunk blinked at the sudden light, and scooted further back in the cramped space. "Hey, hey, easy, buddy. I'm a cop." That sent a visible shudder through the captive. "I'm not going to hurt you, chief. I'm here to help you." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his Leatherman and flipped open the blade. "Just hold still for a second, and I'll cut you loose." 

A minute later, he was helping the man--kid, really, he didn't look much older than eighteen--out of the trunk. "What's your name, kid?"

The victim ran a hand through his wild riot of medium-length curls, pushing them off his forehead. "I'm not a kid. I'm twenty-three," he spat. 

Obviously his youthful looks were a touchy subject with the kid--er, young man. "Sorry. Can you tell me how you ended up in the trunk of this car?"

"It's not what you think----" he started, then hesitated, his gaze going to the woman. At her almost imperceptible headshake, he left his sentence unfinished. 

Backup and the ambulance rolled up just then, and the detective turned the victim over to the paramedics to be checked out. Confident the man was in good hands, he walked over to the two suspects. "Okay, let's hear your side of it. How did that kid end up bound and gagged in your trunk?"

Julia Henson met his gaze squarely. "We're not answering any questions without our lawyer present." 

He didn't know who the hell this woman thought she was, but both Malloy and the vic seemed to be afraid of her. And that pissed him off. "You want to do this the hard way, we'll do it the hard way. Hutchens, she goes in your car. Put Malloy in the other unit, and get me a tow truck. We're all going to take a ride downtown."

* * *

 

He sat quietly in the back of the ambulance, having waved off the paramedics, and watched the detective giving orders, sending Julia to one cop car and Patrick to another. When the cop had first opened the trunk of the Mercedes and leaned in, he'd thought some Hell's Angels reject was after him. Easy mistake to make, what with the sleeveless T-shirt, the earring, and the totally seventies facial hair--a bushy mustache and what he'd thought for a moment had been a hairy caterpillar stuck to the cop's chin. He shuddered at the memory. Not his idea of a good time.

The cop finally returned to the ambulance, scowling at the paramedics. "I thought I told you to check the victim out," he said, jerking his thumb in the young man's direction.

"He refused treatment," the medic replied.

Striding over to the rear of the ambulance, the cop stared down at him. "Why didn't you let them look at you? You were trussed up and tossed in a car trunk. You've gotta at least be banged up from getting thrown around in there, chief."

He shook his head, his chestnut curls bouncing. "Not a scratch on me."

The cop's hand snaked out and grabbed his wrist, holding it closer to the light as he examined it. "Not even a rope burn," he muttered.

"Told you. Can I go now?"

The detective gave him a glare. "You were the victim of a crime. You're coming down to the station and giving a statement."

Hopping down from the ambulance, he shook his head. "No. I'm not going to press charges, so you can just let them go." He waved his hand at the squad cars holding Julia and Patrick. 

"It doesn't work that way, chief. I saw you in the trunk, and that makes me a witness to whatever the hell was going on. So a ride to the station is in your future whether you like it or not. Now are you going to go quietly with me, or do I need handcuffs and a squad car for you, too?"

Sighing, he shook his head in defeat and followed the detective to a pickup truck. He got in and fastened his seatbelt, figuring if the guy looked like a biker, he might drive like one too. Staring out the window, he watched the dingy buildings go by, the night's events putting a serious damper on the magic he'd seen in the lights before. Engrossed in his depressing thoughts, he startled when the cop spoke.

"Look, chief, I'm sorry I came down on you the way I did back there. I treated you like a perp there for a minute, instead of a victim."

He gave a snort of disbelief at that. The cop was going to say whatever he thought would get the response he wanted.

"Let's try this again. My name's Jim Ellison. What's yours, chief?"

Anything to get the cop to stop calling him "chief". "Blair--Blair Sandburg."

Ellison gave him what he must have thought was a friendly smile. "Now we're getting somewhere. So, chief--"

"Blair."

"All right--Blair. How'd you end up in the car trunk?"

Blair rolled his eyes. "How stupid do you think I am? Just because I know your name now doesn't make you my new best friend."

"And two people who'd tie you up and stick you in a trunk are?" he growled.

Not having an answer that the detective could possibly understand, Blair returned to staring out the window. 

Ellison was silent for a few minutes, and Blair hoped he was through with the grilling. He was wrong, but when Ellison started in again, the questions were of the gentler variety. 

"So, you live here in Cascade?"

The question seemed harmless enough, and the cop would find out his address when he looked up Blair's driver's license once they got to the station. And if he got Ellison talking, maybe he could figure out a way to get himself out of this mess. "Not at the moment. I just graduated from University of Washington."

"Decided to go away to school, eh? Or they not offer your major at Rainier?"

A smile twitched at the corners of Blair's mouth. "I got my undergrad degree at Rainier. I did my MA in anthropology at WSU." It was a few seconds before Ellison spoke again, and Blair imagined him doing the math.

"You some kind of genius? Or just a glutton for punishment?"

Wouldn't you like to know…."I started at Rainier when I was sixteen."

"Genius then. So you got a job lined up?"

He spared a glance at the detective, who had both eyes on the road. "I have a few months off, then I'm going on an expedition for a year."

"Sounds more exciting than the ride you went on tonight." Ellison signaled, then pulled into the police station's underground garage and parked the truck.

As Blair got out, he said, "You can work it any way you want, Detective, but you're not going to get me to press charges."

The cop shrugged. "Whatever. Get in the elevator. We're going for a ride."

* * *

 

When Ellison entered the Major Crime bullpen with the kidnapping victim in tow, he found it practically deserted. A glance at the clock showed him the reason--it was after one a.m. At least one of the patrol units must have gotten there ahead of him, because Julia Henson sat in the chair next to his desk, Hutchens standing guard over her.

As soon as Sandburg saw her, he made a lunge in her direction, and Ellison was caught flat-footed. It only took him two long strides to catch up, though. Wrapping his arms around Blair from behind, he lifted him bodily off the ground, keeping him from crossing the last few feet separating them from Henson. 

"Put me down, pig!" Blair yelled, kicking and twisting in an attempt to break free.

Julia had been staring off into space, but now she gazed at the struggling men, a hint of amusement in her eyes. Then letting out a bored sigh, she looked away toward the wall behind Jim's desk.

All the fight went out of Blair, and Jim set him down, but kept a grip on his arm. He clearly understood the message she was sending--Blair Sandburg was less interesting to her than a blank wall. So why in the hell had he been tied up in the trunk of her car? 

Obviously, he needed to get the truth out of them somehow. Perhaps a little police procedure would loosen some tongues. "Hutchens, can you take her down to booking, make sure she's fingerprinted and photographed? And when the unit rolls in with Malloy, do the same with him. Then bring them back up here for interrogation--separately." 

"Sure thing, Detective." Assisting Ms. Henson to her feet, he started to lead her past Sandburg and out of the bullpen.

Drawn like a magnet, Blair moved toward her again, only this time Ellison was ready for it, and didn't let him get far. "Siddown, punk." Jim pushed him into a chair and held him there. 

Half turning at the noise, Julia graced Blair with a smile and, in contrast to her actions just seconds earlier, reassured him. "It'll be all right, pet." Then she was gone. 

The detective shook his head. There was something going on between those two, something "hinky" as his partner, Jack, would say. He sat down at his desk and fired up his computer to take Sandburg's statement. "So, chief, tell me again, how did you end up in that car trunk?"

Blair leaned back in the chair, stretching out his legs and crossing his ankles. He then began to twiddle his thumbs.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

 

Jim Ellison was not a happy cop. Both Henson and Malloy were refusing to answer any questions without their lawyer present. Sandburg was more talkative--about anything but the events of that evening. He'd had an earful about the tribe in South America the anthropologist was going to be studying, the Jags chances at making the NBA finals this season, and a lecture on the horrors of MSG in Chinese food. Jim had finally stuck the kid in an interview room so he wouldn't have to listen to him any more.

That had been an hour ago. Henson's attorney had finally shown up, and after conferring with her client agreed to let the detective question Julia Henson with her present. He entered the interview room determined to find out what the real story was. After setting up the tape recorder, Ellison leaned against the wall. The suspect and her attorney sat at the table in the center of the room. "Ms. Henson, what you were doing at the Neon Pony club last night?"

Her lawyer nodded, indicating she should answer the question. The trace of a smile crossed Julia's lips as she replied, "Dancing." 

"With the young man found in the trunk of your car, correct?" 

She looked to her attorney, who again nodded. "Yes." 

"How did Mr. Sandburg get from the dance floor to your car, Ms. Henson?"

The attorney, a tall blonde woman by the name of Dagne Mueller, spoke up. "I advise my client not to answer that question on the grounds that it might incriminate her."

The suspect shrugged. "Sorry, I always listen to my lawyer."

Jim tried another line of questioning. "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a doctoral student in psychology at University of Washington."

Now that was interesting, that Henson and Sandburg both attended U of WA. "Had you ever met Mr. Sandburg before last night at the club?" 

Another look passed between client and counsel. "Yes, at school."

So she knew the guy. This was beginning to make less and less sense to the detective. "How well do you know Mr. Sandburg?"

Julia leaned forward, propping her elbow on the table and resting her chin on her hand. "How do you mean 'how well'? Are we friends? I like to think so. Do I know him in the biblical sense? Very well," she purred, giving him a slow wink.

"What about Mr. Malloy? Is he friends with Mr. Sandburg?"

"Yes, we all know each other." She yawned, covering her mouth with a beautifully manicured hand. Jim got the distinct impression his questions were boring her.

"Let me ask you about Mr. Malloy for a few minutes. You told me when I stopped you that he was your driver. He's in your employ?"

Another whispered consultation was held with her attorney. "No, I don't pay him to chauffeur me around. He was driving my car tonight because I asked him to."

"Did he help you tie up Mr. Sandburg and place him in your trunk?"

She didn't need to look at her lawyer to answer that one. "I refuse to answer on the grounds it may incriminate me."

Jim felt like planting his fist in the smug woman's face. With an effort, he restrained himself. "You understand you're facing serious charges here, criminal confinement, reckless endangerment--"

"Misdemeanors, Detective Ellison," Mueller said. "My client has never been in trouble with the law before. She'll get probation, if anything."

"Those will be felony charges, Ms. Henson, once Mr. Sandburg finishes his statement." Jim was not about to tell them that Sandburg had told him exactly zip up to that point. 

Julia began to laugh. "You've got to be kidding, Detective! You expect me to believe Blair is going to press charges against me? Just the fact that you've even brought the subject up is telling me that Blair has told you nothing." She leaned back in her chair, still giggling. "You haven't asked the right questions yet, of Blair or me."

Jim was at a loss, but he saw a way to turn it to his advantage. If she thought she was so smart, then he should use that, play to her ego. "All right, Ms. Henson, what questions should I be asking?" 

The smile she gave him was devious. "You haven't asked me whose idea it was in the first place to tie Blair up and put him in the trunk of my car." 

"Whose idea was it?" The answer he got made him storm out of the room in a rage.

* * *

 

Taking a deep breath, Ellison opened the door to the interrogation room holding Blair Sandburg. The young man looked up at his entry, a smile crossing his face.

"Can I go yet?" he asked.

"No!" Ellison snapped, pulling out the chair across the table from Blair, flipping it around, and sitting down on it backwards. "I want the truth from you and I want it now." He slapped his hand down on the tabletop, and Sandburg jumped. 

"I already told you, I'm not going--"

"To press charges. Yeah, yeah, I heard you. Well, Mr. Smart Guy, I don't need you to press charges. I can do that all on my own. Sure, they won't be felonies, but your good friend Ms. Henson will still wind up with a criminal record." 

Blair's face paled, and for the first time since Jim had pulled him out of the Mercedes, he looked scared. His expression changed to one of relief when the door opened again and the attorney, Mueller, slipped into the room.  

Giving her a glare, Jim continued his questioning. "Ms. Henson and Mr. Malloy have told me a very interesting story, but I want to hear it in your words. What were you doing in the trunk of that car?"

Blair chewed the inside of his lip, his gaze darting around the room and landing on Mueller. She nodded. Finally he sighed. "Okay, if I tell you the truth, you'll drop the charges and let Julia and Patrick go free?"

Jim narrowed his eyes. "If I'm satisfied with your story, I'll consider it. Now answer the question."

Licking his lips, Blair said, "It was a role-play."

"A what?" 

"A…a game. A force fantasy."

Ellison had never heard of such a thing. "Still not following you, chief." 

Blair's cheeks turned a bright red, and his voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "A sex game. Julia 'kidnaps' me and takes me to a secret place and…has her way with me…."

Jim felt like smacking himself in the forehead. Or better yet, smacking the kid. "And you thought being tied up and helpless in a car trunk was a good idea?"

"Hey, I was never in any danger at all! I could have been free and out of that trunk in ten seconds." He crossed his arms over his chest and stared sullenly at the floor.

Now this Ellison had to see. "Okay, chief, prove it to me." 

Twenty minutes later, they were down in the parking garage, Julia's car having been brought over from impound. The two suspects, Henson and Malloy, along with their victim, were present. So was their attorney, Detective Ellison, and a couple of uniforms in case things got rowdy. 

Ellison handed a length of rope to Julia. "Go to it." 

Nodding, she approached Blair, grabbing him around the waist and pulling him to her, giving him a kiss that left him dazed and breathing hard when she finally stepped back. "Turn around, pet." Shaking himself, Blair complied, bringing his hands together behind him. Julia quickly tied them, then called the detective over to inspect her work. 

"See, Detective? This is a quick release knot. Blair can strain all he wants against the rope, but it will only release if you pull on this end of it." She held up the end she meant then made sure it was secure in Blair's grasp. "Give me a hand with him?" she asked Jim. "Grab his feet." Together they lifted Blair into the trunk.

"Anyone got a stop watch?" Blair asked. "If so, start timing as soon as the lid is closed."

Scowling, Ellison pushed Blair down into the trunk and closed the lid. He had barely taken his hand off of it when it popped open. Blair leapt out, grinning. 

"See, I told you I could do it. I practiced it long enough. How long did it take?" At the answer of 'six seconds', he let out a whoop.

The detective shook his head. "What about carbon monoxide poisoning?" 

Julia opened the back door to the car and reached inside, pulling the back of the rear seat down. "Take a look. I had this open the whole time, monitoring him." 

Jim stuck his head inside the car. With the seat down, there was clear access to the trunk. Straightening up, he looked at everyone involved in the incident, as well as the small crowd that had gathered. He was never going to live this down. His kidnapping was a fantasy sex game. 

"There's nothing to see here!" he yelled at the gawkers. "Don't you have work to do?" As the crowd dispersed, laughing among themselves, Ellison looked at the two "suspects" and their "victim" "You're free to go," he told them with a sigh. "Not because I don't have enough evidence to charge you, but because you've already taken up enough of my damn time, and it wouldn't be worth the aggravation to bring this case to trial. Go pick up your belongings and get the hell out of here."

With that, he turned his back on the whole crazy lot of them, and stalked into the PD.

* * *

 

A shove between the shoulder blades sent him sprawling to the floor. A kick to the ribs flipped him onto his back. He dug his fingers into the thick shag of the carpet as the sole of a stiletto-clad foot pressed down cruelly on his groin, forcing the teeth of his jeans zipper into the tender flesh of his already hard cock.  

"You still want this, pet?" she asked, her voice sultry as she ground her foot against his crotch. She smirked at his moan. "I'll take that as a 'yes'." She poked him in the ass with her toe. "Get naked."  

Rising slowly to his feet, Blair peeled his tee shirt over his head and tossed it on the dresser. Julia smacked his buttock sharply. "Neatly!"  

He folded the shirt and set it back down. Toeing off his shoes, he unfastened his jeans and stepped out of them, carefully folding them as well. He turned around, kneeling next to the huge four-poster bed and pressing his forehead to the floor, his hands behind his back.  

Closing his eyes, he willed himself to relax. He concentrated on drawing air in through his nose and letting it back out through his lips slowly. The tension of hours in police custody began to slip away. As calm came over him, Blair listened to his Mistress moving around the hotel room. A sharp 'skritch' and the acrid smell of sulfur told him she was lighting candles. Music started, Madonna's Erotica album. His cock, which had begun to relax along with the rest of him, twitched in anticipation.  

Fingers tangled in his hair and tugged gently. He knelt up, keeping his gaze on the floor. Julia cupped his chin, lifting his head. "You all right there, pet?" she asked, running her thumb over his lower lip.  

Blair nodded, parting his lips, suckling on the pad of her thumb until she dangled a strip of leather in front of his eyes. A low groan escaped him.  

"You want this, hmm?" Her red lips curved in a smile. "You want to be mine?"

"Yesss..." he moaned, the sound coming from deep in his chest. She slipped the collar around his neck, fastening the buckle so it was snug, but not constricting. She stroked his cheek, and he leaned into her hand as the security of his collar erased the last of his stress.

"Tonight is going to be a study in the contrast between hard and soft," she told him. She stepped to the side so he could see the bed behind her. On it lay the instruments of his torture: a pile of silk and a braided leather cat-o-nine-tails.  

A shiver went through him; he was vividly aware of his arousal. His breathing quickened as he turned his gaze back to Mistress Julia. She had changed out of her leather and chain mini-dress and now wore a lace bustier, garters, silk stockings, her black stiletto pumps and nothing else. She gave him a sly smile. "Like what you see?"

Blair nodded, not trusting himself to words. "Give me your hands, pet." He held them out to her, and she picked up one of the long silk scarves from the bed. She wrapped the end of it several times around his right wrist and tied it, leaving about a three-foot length of it trailing. She did the same for his other arm then stepped back.  

"On your feet, precious, and up against the bedpost, facing me, arms over your head." When he complied with her order, she used the ends of the scarves to tie his wrists to the ornate post. She laid a hand on his chest, her thumb stroking his pierced left nipple as she leaned in to bite lightly at his throat. He let out a low cry as she tugged sharply on the nipple ring. Her hand stroked down his stomach to cup his balls, her teeth closing over his unpierced right nipple. The sensation shot straight to his leaking cock.

He jerked against his bonds and her grip tightened on his testes. "Ah, ah, this is just the beginning. If you don't behave, we stop right now."  

"Sorry, Mistress, sorry. I'll be good."

She stroked fingers damp with his arousal over his lips and he sucked them into his mouth, laving them with his tongue. "You'd better be." She replaced her fingers with her lips, kissing him deeply.  

He was breathless when she stepped back and picked up another long piece of silk. Squatting in front of him, she grasped his balls and wound the scarf around their base until they were forced down and away from his groin, leaving two long ends of silk hanging down.  

Julia moved to the bedside table, out of Blair's sight. She returned with a tube of sterile lube and a shiny item she held up for his inspection. It was a slender rod of surgical steel, slightly smaller around than a pencil and three inches long with a ring through a hole in the end of it. "Recognize this?" she asked as she coated it with the lube.

Biting his lip, Blair nodded. It was a prince's wand. He'd never had it used on him, but he knew what it was for from watching Julia work with Patrick. He swallowed, feeling a fluttering in his stomach that was answered by a heavy throbbing in his cock.  

Grasping his erection in her left hand, Julia squeezed the tip as she pressed the end of the wand into the slit in the center of the crown. Blair gripped the bedpost hard, a whimper escaping his tight lips. For a moment there was pain, then the rod disappeared slowly into his cock. By the time the ringed end was flush against the head of his dick, he was breathing hard, sweat beading on his skin.  

She stroked his cock gently, her thumb rubbing the side of the rosy crown. Looking up at him, she asked, "You okay there, precious? Tell me how it feels."

"Tight," he managed to choke out. "Strange."

"Painful?"

He shook his head. "Just…pressure."

She began to wind the ends of the scarf hanging from his balls around his cock, twisting the fabric into thin rope-like strands as she criss-crossed the two pieces, binding his erection in a web of silk. She threaded the ends through the ring in the prince's wand and tied them together. Even if his body had been capable of it, there was no way the thing could be expelled now. She flicked a finger against the ring. Blair shuddered hard as the vibration traveled down the metal and stimulated his cock from the inside out. He yelped.  

Julia stood up. "I thought you might like that." Untying his hands, she said, "On your knees, pet."

He knelt in front of the padded bench at the foot of the bed, awaiting her next command. Julia turned out the lamp, and the room became softer, more intimate in the candles' glow. She sat on the bench and ran her fingers through his curls, her touch gentle. "You all right?" she asked again, and he nodded.  

"Good." She leaned back, spreading her legs. "Tonight I'm taking my pleasure first, because you won't be in any shape to give it when I'm through with you." Her hand on his head urged him forward, and Blair followed eagerly. "Put that talented tongue of yours to use, slave."

He ran the flat of his tongue through her wet sex, closing his eyes in bliss at the salty-sweet taste of her. He loved pleasing her this way, had loved doing it to every woman he'd been with, as he'd told Julia at their second meeting. He was good at it, much better with his mouth than with his cock, though he had improved under his Mistress's firm tutelage.

She gave a little gasp as he fluttered the tip of his tongue against her, and her grip tightened in his hair. "Oh, Christ…" she moaned, "…so fucking good…"

He slipped two fingers into her slick warmth, her hips arching off the bench as he stroked her G-spot. He licked and suckled her, wondering why she didn't command he do this more often. Julia made a whimpering noise and tightened around his fingers. Blair scraped his teeth over her swollen, sensitive clit and she came with a shattering cry.

As he continued to caress her with his tongue, drawing out her aftershocks, he realized the answer to his question. When she had him perform cunnilingus, she was giving him control of her pleasure. Blair imagined for a Domme like Julia that was an uncomfortable place for her to go. It said volumes about how much she trusted _him_ , that she would allow him to _give_ her an orgasm, rather than her _taking_ it from him as she usually did.

A tug on his hair signaled she'd had enough. Blair moved back slightly and licked his fingers then wiped his face with the end of the scarf still hanging from his wrist. His instinct was to hold her, but he knew that would be crossing a line. Instead, he rested his cheek against her thigh, watching her breathing slow, feeling the tremors in her muscles fade away.  

Sensing her gaze on him, he looked up to see her regarding him with half-closed hazel eyes, a noise he could only call a purr issuing from her throat. Julia licked her lips slowly, and Blair felt his pulse jump. She sat up, catching his face in her hands, tilting his head back so she could kiss him languorously. He parted his lips for her, feeling her tongue delve inside his mouth as his had so recently delved inside her.  

"Mmmm, you, my gorgeous pet, are delicious…" she breathed. Julia embraced him for a moment, her arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders. Then she rose to her feet, gesturing for him to do the same.  

"Kneel on the bench, facing the head of the bed," she told him. When he obeyed, she took hold of the scarf hanging from his right wrist and tied it to the bedpost. She did the same with his other arm to the opposite post. She picked up the last two scarves from the bed. Twisting one into a roll, she approached him. "Open wide." He did, and she thrust the cloth between his teeth, tying it tightly behind his head. The final scarf she gave to him to hold.

"Since you can't speak, the scarf is your safe word. If it gets to be too much for you, if your legs start to go to sleep, if your nose itches, _anything_ , drop the scarf and we'll take a timeout. Do you understand?" Blair nodded. It wasn't the first time an object had been used as his safe word.  

Picking up the cat-o-nine-tails from the mattress, she stroked his cheek with it. It was deceptively soft, and the scent of the leather made his cock tighten in reflex. She ran the tails of the cat down his chest as her fingers curled around his erection, her thumb brushing the end of the prince's wand and making him pull at his restraints. He inhaled noisily.  

She pressed her body against his back. "Easy, easy, this is just the beginning." The cat trailed up and down the inside of his thighs, making him quiver.  

Julia stepped back and Blair tensed, awaiting the blow he knew was coming. Just when his muscles began to relax, she struck. The cat landed lightly between his shoulder blades, the tails nine butterfly kisses against his skin. Julia worked to the beat of the music, flicks of the whip landing randomly over his body: shoulders, back, thighs, ass, chest. As Blair felt his skin begin to heat up, his Mistress swung the cat harder, the light kisses turning into sharp stings.  

He started to twitch and flinch away from cat's bite, little noises forcing their way past the gag. Mistress Julia paused in her rhythm, moving to Blair's side. "How are you doing, precious?" Her hand caressed the hot flesh of his ass, her fingers pressing against his anus. He gasped and shuddered, throwing his head back. She sank her teeth into his throat and he howled, a hard shiver going through him at the sensory overload.  

She grasped him around the waist, keeping him from tumbling off the bench. "Breathe, Blair, breathe!" she admonished him. He closed his eyes, shutting out everything but the air rushing in and out of his lungs. He felt her fingers at the side of his neck, monitoring his pulse. When it slowed enough for her liking, she slackened her hold on him. 

Gripping his chin, she turned his head toward her. "Open your eyes, baby, let me see you." He did so, blinking in the candlelight. "Good, you're still here. While I know you love flying, that's not the point of tonight's game. Do you understand? Are you okay to continue? Think about that before you answer me." She loosened his gag and pulled it down around his neck.  

Blair took several deep breaths, clearing what had been the beginning of a slip into slave space from his mind. "I'm all right, Mistress," he managed to say; his tongue felt thick and clumsy in his mouth after being held down by the gag.

Julia's brows lowered pensively as she ran the back of her fingers over his cheek. "Are you sure? I want to mark you, but if you're--" 

"I'm okay, really, Mistress." His voice was steadier this time, and she seemed to take that as a sign he was fully cognizant. Nodding, she replaced the gag and stepped back out of his sight.

Pain exploded between his shoulder blades. Blair rocked forward, the sudden motion making the bedposts creak. He had barely time to take a breath before the cat seared across his ass, each tail a hot brand. She marked his thighs next and Blair had to close his eyes against the burn of tears. He knew, _he knew_ , she would never break the skin, but it felt like he was being flayed. Tears flowed down his cheeks as he screamed behind the gag with each impact of the cat. Just as his hold relaxed on the scarf he held in his hand, it was over.  

He hung limply in his bonds as she removed the gag. He could hear, but not really comprehend, her soft murmurs. His arms were freed from their outstretched position and he slumped over in an almost fetal curl, struggling to breathe through the inferno that was his back, ass and thighs. Great rasping sobs shook his body, frightening him. He'd played this hard or harder with Mistress Julia before but never had a reaction this severe. 

Julia's arms encircled him from behind and he grasped her hands, squeezing them tightly. He leaned into her, the press of her now bare torso against his back a balm on his burning skin. Cool fingertips ghosted over his heated body, her touch taking the edge off the pain.

"Shh, shh," she crooned. "You're all right. Just let it out, cry yourself out." She held him close, rocking him gently, kissing his tear-streaked cheek.

Blair regained control of himself, his racing heartbeat slowing and his gulping breaths becoming measured inhalations. Julia began to stroke his chest and stomach. The more he relaxed, the lower her hand went, until her palm was smoothing over his bare pubic bone and lightly teasing his still hard erection. 

"You doing okay there, pet?"

"Yeah," he managed, then amended it to "Yes, Mistress."

"Do we need to stop now, or can I give you what I know you need?" Her fingernails scraped gently over the tight skin of his balls.  

Blair licked his lips, her hands on his cock making him aware the throbbing in his groin had never faded. "I need you, Mistress," he whispered.  

Her teeth grazed his earlobe. "Tell me what you need," she said, her voice husky.  

He shivered. "I need you inside me…I need you to fuck me…." He turned to look at her.  

Her eyes glowed in the candlelight, her desire for him clearly visible. Another shiver went through him. "Please fuck me, Mistress," he pleaded.  

Leaning forward, she pressed her lips softly to his brow, his eyelids and then his mouth. "All right, precious. Get on the bed, on your knees up by the headboard."  

Nodding, Blair did as he was told. The headboard was made of heavy mahogany, as ornately carved as the bedposts. A curve rose up from the center, a finial carved to look like a pineapple topping it. Julia tethered his wrists to the pineapple, giving him enough slack that he could grip the top of the headboard for balance.  

She climbed onto the mattress behind him. "You are so beautiful, precious, so very beautiful, red and hot with the most gorgeous marks." Her latex-gloved fingers traced the abstract lines the cat's tails had left on his ass, her touch sending a jolt of intense pleasure shooting through him. Parting his cheeks, her fingertips massaged lube over his anus then pressed slowly inside him. Blair whined in his throat and clenched his hands on the top of the headboard.  

She added more lube and a third finger, making him arch his spine and push back against her hand. "Ah, ah, not yet, baby." Julia got off the bed and moved to the nightstand.  

Blair let out a sigh and leaned his cheek on his forearm, watching her. The silicone dildo she picked up was like nothing he'd ever seen before. It looked like a number 7 lying on its back, the long side of it a thick, black cock, the shorter a somewhat egg shape. The section where the two joined had small ridges on it. Julia knelt on the bed, her legs spread. Blair's eyes widened as she inserted the short end into her vagina with a low moan, the ridges fitting snuggly against her clit. The dildo sprang away from her hips like a real cock with no need for a harness to hold it in place.

She looked up from coating it with lube to find him watching her. "You like my cock, slave? You want my thick cock in your tight, red ass?"

A tremor ran through him and all he could do was nod as his insides tightened. She moved behind him, her hand stroking his ass before he felt the tip of her cock pressing lightly against his anus. "This what you want, pet? Is this what you were thinking about when I shoved you up against the wall in that alley?"  

Moaning, Blair laid his forehead on his wrist, the images, the sensations from that moment washing over him.  

She stroked the dildo back and forth over his entrance. "Did you imagine me yanking your jeans down and taking you right there? Fucking you hard and fast until you screamed, until you came all over that brick wall?"

"Oh, God," he groaned, feeling his pulse pounding in his cock, in his ass. "Please, please…oh, God, yes! I wanted it; I want it!"

Her fingers gripped his hips tightly as she plunged into him. He let out a half scream, half sob and braced his shoulder against the headboard. She fucked him ferally, the dildo hitting his prostate with every stroke. One hand gripped his erection, flicking, twisting, fucking his cock with the prince's wand.  

Blair's orgasm rushed over him like a wall of fire, hot and intense, all consuming. Stars glittered at the edge of his vision then everything faded to black.

* * *

 

Letting out a long sigh, Blair rubbed his cheek against the soft skin his head rested on. Fingers worked their way through his curls, massaging his scalp. "Mmmm…."

"Feel good, pet?" 

"Um-hmmmm…"

Julia tipped her head down just enough so she could plant a kiss on top of his hair. "I'm sorry our little game tonight didn't play out exactly as planned. I hope the experience hasn't ruined the idea of role-playing for you." 

Blair shifted in the bed, rolling over on his back gingerly, releasing his hold on her, his wrist still trailing the silk scarf she'd used to tie his hands earlier. Raising up on one elbow, she peered down at him, her fingertip tracing across his lips before she leaned over and kissed him, reacquainting herself with all the contours of his mouth. 

He smiled at her when they parted, his sleepy eyes reflecting the candlelight in the room. "I have no complaints," he murmured, his voice low and hoarse. Julia rested her chin on his shoulder, her fingertips teasing his nipple ring as she watched the expression on his face. "In fact, I have an idea for an even better game. Think we could get some handcuffs?"

"We have plenty of manacles and chains at home, pet, why would we need handcuffs?"

His grin grew broader. "I can think of lots of reasons--like naughty cops and robbers. You could be the hot detective who interrogates me." 

Laughing, she kissed him again. "I love the way your mind works."


End file.
